Noise Complaints
by BuryTheHatchet
Summary: McGee has writers block and his neighbours are fed up with his shredder going 24/7, so he decides to move. And moves into an even worse situation. A little bit of hinted TIVA. Well, I guess it is slightly more than hinted. But it is not the focus. Really. Maybe.


**McGee is suffering from writers block, much like me.**

 **I have had the past week off and I thought, I know, I can do some writing. But no. I am not inspired by anything. I went for a run. I went for a bike ride. I went swimming. I tried to sleep. I had baths. I had showers. I listened to classical music. I listened to 80s music. I listened to Bowie. I even listened to some God-awful pop music that my brother likes. I listened to quiet music. I listened to loud music. I sat in silence. I lay in silence. I watched old films. I watched new films. I baked biscuits. I read books. I watched NCIS. I watched Pie in the Sky. I watched Friends. I read Fanfiction. I organised my wardrobe. I organised the DVD shelf. I organised the fridge. I changed a light bulb. I tried writing by hand. I looked for sundresses for the summer. I tried to imagine Tony in a sundress. I tried to update my CV and realised that I really have not done anything remarkable. I tried to think of remarkable things that I could do. I failed to think of remarkable things I could do. I reread the whole of It Takes Two.**

 **And then I typed a whole load of rubbish, came up with this, admitted it was rubbish and said, and I quote, "Oh, screw it!"**

Noise Complaints

McGee sighed. He ran the paper through the shredder and watched as it went from one sheet into hundreds of tiny fragments with just the movement of a few blades and the whirring noise that proved it was doing something. His neighbour pounded on the wall and he rolled his eyes. Maybe he should just move to a new apartment. Maybe that was all he needed – a change of scenery.

So what if it was a bit of a drastic step just to write a book, it would get him paid more and he could maybe even get onto better terms with his neighbours before he started shredding paper at 0300. Yeah, he'd get a new apartment. He walked out the door, making certain to lock it behind him (he never could trust that his neighbour wouldn't just break in a destroy his beautiful typewriter), and headed out to the estate agents down the corner. It didn't occur to him that they wouldn't be open at 0200. He hit the glass door with his fist before turning back to his apartment. He took his computer, usually only used for playing games, and searched the local area for apartment, putting viewing requests in for two. He leant back and yawned before returning to his trusty typewriter and wrote some more rubbish about the case that LJ Tibbs and the gang were solving. He ripped the paper out of the mouth of the machine and fed it to his shredder, slamming his palm against the wall when his neighbours banged again. The poor wall really did suffer.

* * *

"So I sold the apartment next door to a lady a few weeks ago and she seemed very nice. I doubt that she'll be much trouble and she said that she worked long hours so wouldn't be home frequently anyway. The rent is fairly low. There's no policy about children but there is a policy about pets. So, what do you say?" The estate agent smiled as she and McGee stood in the living room of the second possibility for apartments. This one was definitely better than the first possibility. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Sure, I'll take it."

"Great! If we just go back to my office, we can complete the paperwork and finish sorting everything out!" She beamed and McGee nodded.

"When can I move in then?"

"This weekend."

"Okay. My lease runs out on Monday." He nodded and followed her out of the building, already planning where his furniture was going to go.

* * *

"Hey, I'm, uh, I'm moving house this weekend, so are any of you guys able to help?" Tim said as they sat at their desks, all pretending to be engrossed in paperwork when in actuality Tony was playing patience on his computer, Ziva was _very_ intently reading a _very_ obscene email from Tony and Gibbs was, well, nowhere to be found.

"Can't, Probie. I'm going away for the weekend."

"Oh. You hadn't said anything. Where to?"

"Oh, nowhere, just, you know, fishing with some old buddies of mine." Tony shrugged.

"Huh. I would have thought that we'd have heard about it. Did you know about Tony's trip Ziva? Hey, Ziva!"

"Hm? What?" She looked up, appearing slightly flustered.

"Did you know about Tony's trip?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Oh. Um, he mentioned it in passing I think." She shrugged.

"So, are you able to help me move my furniture this weekend?"

"I am busy, McGee. Sorry."

"Busy with what?"

"I have a…" She pursed her lips, thinking for the correct term, "friend coming from Tel Aviv."

"You're a rubbish liar."

"How do you know I do not just pretend to be rubbish at lying so when I actually need to lie you will not realise?" McGee stared at her, contemplating what she had said.

"How long is your friend here for?" He was still suspicious. Firstly, no-one seemed to care that he was moving. Secondly, they both seemed to have plans that nobody had known about. Thirdly, they both seemed more distracted than usual.

"Just Friday, Saturday and Sunday."

"Long flight for three days."

"He has business in New York."

"Oh, they're a he?"

"McGee, you sound like Tony. I am aloud to have male friends, believe it or not." She snapped, turning back to her screen. McGee looked to Tony, who was now typing on his keyboard rather than moving cards around the screen with his mouse. Tim walked over and just caught the corner of an IM window as Tony shut it down quickly.

"Who where you messaging?"

"Nobody, McNosey. Why are you so interested."

"Why aren't you so interested in Ziva having a male friend from Tel Aviv visiting?"

"Because I have realised that people deserve some privacy, and you should realise that too, Probie. Really, it's just not polite to poke around into others business."

"Whoa. This coming from the man who can't go two minutes without looking over someone's shoulder or rifling through someone's desk?"

"Well, maybe I've grown up." Tony glared at the younger agent as he scoffed and turned to Ziva.

"You don't believe that do you, Ziva? Ziva!"

"What, McGee?" She looked up, her cheeks tinted pink. McGee couldn't tell whether the blush was from anger or something else.

"Well, I was just wondering why you and Tony are acting so strangely?"

"We are not acting strangely." She turned back to the IM box that had just popped up on her screen.

"You are!" McGee stomped in the middle of the bullpen.

"Gees, McGee. What's got into you?" Tony frowned at him. "You feeling okay? Maybe you should take the rest of the day off."

"I'm fine! It's you two that are acting weirdly! I'm going down to Abby!" He stormed out of the room, leaving Tony and Ziva to exchange glances before going back to their IM conversation.

* * *

McGee flopped down on the bed that he and Abby had carefully positioned in his new apartment earlier that day. Abby had just left and he felt drained. He could really have done with Ziva and Tony's help when he moved. Or at least Palmer. Palmer had helped Ziva when she have moved apartments only a few weeks ago and he couldn't help because he was away at a writers convention. Tony had helped Ziva, so why hadn't he helped him. He wan't buying the whole fishing thing. He doubted Tony had the patience for fishing. And, he still hadn't worked out why Tony and Ziva had been acting so strangely. They'd been disappearing during work, never for more than an hour, and whenever Gibbs looked like he was going to over-boil with anger at them for it, Ziva just went and spoke to him and smoothed it all over. Whatever _it_ was. Maybe there were on an undercover assignment together, like the frog case. He walked over to his typewriter and ran his fingers across the keys.

Suddenly, something hit the other side of the wall separating his new apartment and the one next to it. The one which had just been sold to the lady who wasn't supposed to be too much of a bother. He grabbed his SIG and knocked the safety off – there was a lot of noise coming from the apartment for someone who wasn't supposed to be too loud as a whole rumpus was muffled through the wall. He edged closer to the door before hearing a flirtatious laugh coming from his new neighbours apartment. He paused and listened closer. He widened his eyes as he realised how thin the walls were (and what his new neighbour was doing). He flushed a deep scarlet colour as he heard moans of pleasure through the wall and shuddered. He made a beeline for the bathroom and turned the shower to high power, stopping only to put a jazz record on.

McGee groaned as he stepped into his new lounge to find that next-door were still at it. He towelled his hair down and sat at his typewriter, tapping away at the keys and yanking out the finished piece and skimming over it. _Where's the soap? I need to scrub my mind out for writing this!_ He thought, blushing at his own writing. He read over it again, slower this time.

 _"Oh, Tony…"_

He whipped his head around to glare at the wall. He looked back at the words he had just read: _Oh, Tommy…_

It was probably just his imagination. Or coincidence. Or both. Yes, that must be it. It was coincidence that his new neighbour had a boyfriend called Tony, and he was imagining that she had an Israeli accent because he was reading about his fictional recreations of his colleagues and his brain had just paired the two situations up wrong…or something…

He sent the paper through the shredder, using the sound of his work being torn to pieces to block out the noise drifting through the wall. It helped. A bit. Until he ran out of writing that needed shredding. He walked into the kitchen and pulled out the blender from the box that was waiting to be unpacked. The blender was a gift from his grandmother, not that he had ever found a use for it. He rummaged through the fridge in search of anything that he could chuck into the clear jug and watch be pulverised by the rotating blades. He winced as something hit the wall again, sounding very body like, and another laugh could be heard. _Christ,_ he thought, _the woman can probably be heard for ten miles!_ He stuffed some fruit, a glass of milk and a handful of ice into the blender and closed the lid (he _had_ seen TV before, he knew what would happen if he was careless with a blender, and he didn't particularly fancy another shower) before hitting the button and allowing the blissfully loud grinding of the blades as it mixed the fruit and milk into something that looked almost drinkable. He groaned when he realised that he had to turn the blender off. Silence. Could they really have stopped? He grinned and sighed, finally able to relax…

…Or not. He ran a hand through his hair as squeals of delight permeated his apartment. _How do they have so much stamina! Even Abby can't keep going this long!_ He whimpered and banged his head against the counter top. He just wanted to sleep, and he couldn't because of the racket going on next-door. Now he knew what his old neighbours were talking about – he would never shred paper at night again. He took a sip of the fruit concoction, promptly spitting it in the sink, and decided that enough was enough. He was a federal agent who needed his sleep and that wasn't going to happen with the noise coming from his neighbours. He walked into the corridor and stood in front of the door to the apartment from which all the noise was coming from. He breathed deeply, trying to find the confidence to knock. A loud, masculine laugh was all it took and he hit the wood four times with his fist. He rolled his eyes as more laughter ensued. Muffled voices approached the door, the unintelligible conversations punctuated with what McGee could only imagine were kisses. The door cracked open and McGee was met by a tangled mess of dark curls and Tony's forehead above as his lips were ajoined to the lips of the owner of the head of curls.

"Hey, dude, it's like 0200, what d'you want?" He mumbled, his eyes not leaving the woman's.

"Some peace and quite, Tony." McGee said bitterly as his colleague's hand trailed lower and lower down the woman's back, their lips returned to one another's after Tony had finished talking. As soon as they recognised McGee's voice, Ziva whirled round in Tony's arms and Tony cringed. "Ziva!"

"McGee!"

"Tony!"

"McGoo!"

"What?!"

"Gagh!" Tony wasn't certain whether his and Ziva's breathlessness was due to the fright of seeing McGee stood at the door, or to their prior activities to seeing McGee stood at the door. "Probie! What the hell d'you think you're doing here!"

"Well, I, uh…I…um…there was…I mean…I…I…I just…you…uh, er…" He stuttered, unable to help the way his eyes travelled up and down Ziva's body, the striped button-down shirt barely reaching her thighs.

"Hey, eyes front soldier!" Tony clicked his fingers at McGee.

"Er, right…you, er…well, you were…er…"

"Spit it out, McGee." Ziva snapped.

"YouweremakingalotofnoiseandIcouldn'tsleepandthewallsarereallythininthisplaceandIthinkIneedanewapartment!" He said in one breath, cringing.

"What do you mean, you need a new apartment?" Ziva frowned as he shifted uncomfortably.

"I, uh, I moved into the apartment next-door today."

"What on earth possessed you to move in next to Ziva?!" The couple stared at him.

"I didn't know I was moving into next to Ziva! I didn't know your new address!"

"Well why didn't you check?!"

"Because that's not the sort of thing that you check when you move into a new apartment!" He didn't understand why he was being accused here. It wasn't his fault. _They_ were the ones who had broken rule 12! "Look, can we just deal with this tomorrow? I'm tired and I really want to get some sleep."

"Then why are you bothering us when you could be sleeping?" Tony grumbled.

"Because I couldn't sleep! Because you two are so loud!"

"Well that's not our problem!"

"Well I'll just have to tell Gibbs the reason why I'm so tired tomorrow." He shrugged and turned away.

"Wait! No!" They both yelled in unison. "You cannot tell Gibbs." Ziva looked at him.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I have killed people for much less." She whispered in his ear and he flinched.

"Fine. But please just keep it down. Please. And know that I will tell him, no matter what the consequences, if I feel it's required." He smiled and walked away, leaving Tony and Ziva staring at one another. He sighed and leaned against his door as he closed it behind him. Silence. Ten more minutes and more silence. For tonight he could sleep. Tomorrow, he'd go and look for a new apartment. As far away as possible.

Maybe in another state.

Or another country.

 **For my reference: 19th NCIS fic.**


End file.
